The Potter's Wheel Of Life
by Gnat Girl
Summary: Another HP fic! Set in 7th year, post Dark Lord defeat. Just when you though Harry was mad enough, he gets a crush on MM. Will he reveal his feelings for her before graduation, or does he have to destory her soul...? (Duh duh DUUUUH!)
1. Pink Tutus

Disclaimer: Not one tiny shred of the basic plot/characters/etc. is mine. OK? Are you happy now?

A/N: Hello! It's me again. Sorry I got blocked. Anyway, this is a Harry Potter romance fic set in his final year; I have no idea what the plot is or where it is going. Therefore your scorching (yet warming in these (nearly) Autumn months) flames are welcome. For once.

(Note: Bits in _italics are dreams, _*asterisks are thoughts* and #hashes are song lyrics, singing, etc.#) 

Harry Potter: The Potter's Wheel Of Life

Chapter 1: Pink Tutus

Harry was asleep. Therefore Harry was being a boring little sod. He was in his lovely, luxurious four-poster bed, snoring his little head off.

            However, Harry was not being completely boring. He was having a dream – a dream about a girl… or woman, even.

            _Harry was in a corner of the Great Hall, putting up Christmas decorations on a very large tree as a favour for__ Hagrid__. He was whistling 'I Want To Break Free' and occasionally chipping in with the words. When he had got to #I've fallen in love/I've fallen in love for the first time/And this time I know it's for real/I've fallen in love…# He trailed off when he realized there was a hand on his shoulder and, looking at it, it was Professor McGonagall's. _

_            Embarrassed, he turned round slowly to her smiling face. "You sing well," she said softly._

_            "Yes... um… thanks." Suddenly, he dropped the three glass baubles he was holding and stood on tiptoe to kiss her on the cheek. A tremble went through his thin body…_

_            "I can't believe this. It's like a dream," he murmured. _

_            Suddenly, Professor McGonagall was dressed not in green robes but in a shiny pink tutu with a daisy chain in her hair. Harry looked down at himself and saw he was dressed in a (quite but not too revealing) Muggle fireman's uniform._

_            "I'm afraid it is," she said, as she bent to kiss him properly…_

…And he woke with a horrified start.

            The little swot had forgotten to do his Transfiguration homework.

It was only later in the day while he was having a pee that he realized what had happened in his dream – and what it could possibly mean.

            It had begun by him innocently whistling 'I Want To Break Free' and when getting to the appropriate verse expecting the hand on his shoulder. He paused mid-note (and mid-pee for that matter) and suddenly his hand flew to his mouth. Remembering where it had recently been, he covered it with his sleeve. 

            Sitting on the floor, he tried to control his breathing and his thoughts. *Ok, in… out… in… out… it means nothing. You had a cheese sandwich last night. That is all. Harry, you're with Cho Chang now. You like her. Not your teacher. Ugh. Glasses, chalk smell… and yet that is strangely attractive… HELP! * 

            The bell rang – time for Transfiguration. 

Harry sat at the front row normally in Transfiguration – he thought maybe the back row would be better today. Having a crush on your (ugly) teacher – who you deeply respect – and sitting on the front row DO NOT mix.

            Piling his vast quantity of textbooks in front of him he waited nervously for McGonagall to come in.

            And finally she came. Almost in slow motion, the door opened and she stepped in, surveyed the classroom and swept to the front. Using her wand to conjure up her equipment she started the lesson. 

            "Open your textbooks at page 382. Come on, I haven't got all day! Your NEWTS are six months away. You have to _learn a lot more to pass._ We're behind schedule already…"

            She spent the next seven and a quarter minutes twittering on about how behind they were and how they could not waste any more time and how exhausting it was nagging you lot and how Dumbledore was slightly concerned with the lack of progress and FINALLY she ran out of steam.

            Harry had listened to precisely nothing while she was rambling on. He was concentrating on her lips as she spoke and her bun that bobbed up and down when she got excited. And that she kept placing her hand on her chest when she was getting cross…

            "HARRY POTTER! TURN TO PAGE 382 _NOW!_ DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?!"

            Trying to disguise and ignore his deepening attraction he did as he was told. He studied silently through the rest of the lesson; occasionally glancing up at McGonagall… he could tell his face was red. God, it was embarrassing.

            And exhausting too. When he finally finished his lessons (of course, it was just in one ear and out the other all day) he went back to the common room and collapsed into a chair by the fire. Realizing his Charms coursework was behind he got out a long roll of parchment and began to write. He wrote for several hours, trying to force out the image of McGonagall in that pink tutu. The Charms coursework had been split into two parts: practical charms and emotional charms. He'd finished the practical charms last week and (unfortunately) had started on the emotional charms _just _in time for him to get a crush on his teacher. *Typical* he thought. *Isn't life good? Isn't it great? Isn't it _swell_… just when you least expect it – when you're happy, you have good friends and excellent prospects – life comes and smacks you in the face just like…* Failing to think of a slapping thing, he carried on writing. 

            "_When Is It Appropriate To Use An Emotional Charm? Discuss, including examples from history (you may use 'Charms, Their Uses Through Time, pages 200 – 230')_

Emotional Charms have been used throughout history to obtain results upon others. For example, Ruby Enchantica used a Forgetfulness Charm on her father, Sir Enchantica, so she could con him out of money time and time again. This way, over seven years, she stole four thousand galleons and seventy sickles exactly. This helped buy her a country cottage with her fiancée Vernon James."

            Harry put down his quill and paused for a minute. Charm. A Charm. Maybe one to either make himself less attracted (or ideally completely repelled) _or_ he could make McGonagall fall in love with him… It was nearly midnight by now, and Harry was tired. His head slumped on the round table, which would result in half his Charms work printed on his face the next day…

            _Professor McGonagall was walking down the corridor holding a pile of parchment. Harry ran to catch up with her._

_            "Professor! Professor! Wait!" he called. McGonagall turned round and suddenly was hit by a blast of "LIMPENDA" and "OBLIVIATE". When she finally stopped blinking, she looked at Harry in a strange new way…_

_            "Harry… your eyes… they are so bright and green."_

_            "Why thank you." *No wait. No. You have to be nice.* "I mean, your eyes are beautiful too… in fact I composed a song. It's… um… well. Here goes._

_            #Your hair so fair_

_            Your eyes so dark_

_            These things inside me_

_            This unending spark._

_            It won't leave me_

_            For all my life _

_            I will love you_

_            Come woe or come strife.#"_

_            "Wow Harry. That was… beautiful. I can't believe…"_

_            She dropped the parchments (hitting a nearby Mrs. Norris) and leant in to kiss him. Just when their lips were a centimetre away, McGonagall suddenly had the pink tutu on again. And of course Harry was back in the fireman's uniform._

_            "GAAH!"_

_            "What is it, Harry?"    _

_            "It's a dream. It's always a DREAM."_

Everything vanished in a swirl of green and he was back in the common room, and his Charms work was incredibly smudged. *Professor Flitwick will freak* he thought miserably. Still, couldn't be helped.

            And his attraction was as strong as ever.

He'd woken up around about dawn. *God, my neck hurts* He shook his head slowly to ease it up. People were already in the common room (apparently Potions was taking up a lot of time) and were giving him odd looks.

            "What?"

            "You were singing in your sleep. Something like _eyes so dark _and _unending spark_," said Lavender.

            "Freaking us out," said Seamus.

            "Oh – sorry. I was… oh never mind."

            He carried on with his Charms and forgot all about McGonagall. For half a minute anyway. He suddenly inexplicably started thinking about his father. Did he ever have a crush on a teacher? What happened?

            It was at times like this he missed Sirius. Anyway. Charms. Emotional charms. In 1864 – Hagrid would know. Yes! He put down his quill and raced down past the Fat Lady ("Ooh, mind how you go, 'Arry lad. Anyone would think yer in love or summat!") and down to Hagrid's squalid hut. Finding him to be asleep.

            "Hello, Fang. HELLO HAGRID."

            He woke with a start and Harry just blurted out, "Did my dad ever have a crush on a teacher?"

            "What – what time is it?"

            "Time for you to give me the answer to MY QUESTION."

            "Oh – sorry. Yes. Your dad never did. I think."

            "OK."

            "But he did like the Hospital mistress. A different one – Madame Hesband. Yes, he used to injure himself all the time just so he could see her."

            "What happened?"

            "He tried to make her love him – using the Muggle romantic way – and he got placed in detention for a whole term – two hours every night. In his first year."

            Oh dear. Harry was not a happy bunny. He trudged back to his common room and tried to think who else could help. Ron – no way. He'd laugh his horrible hair off. Mrs. Weasley - two words: No and Way. Fred and George: hmm. NO.

            Hermione. YES. *I could write her a letter* he thought.

            'To Hermione.' No, no, all wrong. 

            'My dear Hermione.' Hmm.

            'Dearest Hermione.'

            'Listen, bitch.'

            'Sorry to bother you.'

            'Hermione,

                        I don't quite know how to explain this. I am having some really weird dreams lately – normally involving Professor McGonagall, pink tutus and kissing in some way. It's like something out of a stupid Muggle film. I often dream that I'm in a fireman's uniform too – it's so odd. It's also odd how her chalky cat smell seems attractive. I'm so worried and you're the only one I can talk to.

            You see, I want to make her want me or I want to stop liking her. I don't want to think about it, but I can't help it. It's so strange. Next thing I know Dumbledore will be taking up ballet and Snape will turn out to be gay. Or a troupe of dancing mushrooms will curse the school, or green and purple tigers will become tame and start making sticky toffee pudding for us all. Or Dobby will find a girlfriend.

            You get the picture.

            All I am saying is we are very close friends. You're the best one I ever had. I would talk to Ron but you of all people know what he is like. (Good luck with that by the way – fingers crossed it works out for you both.) You are the closest friend I have and in this time of need – and possibly insanity – I hope you'll help.

                                                            Harry.'

He looked at the letter one more time and folded it. He sat on the floor for a minute and stared at it. Could he really give this to Hermione? Would she understand? It wasn't like the time Sirius Black was after him, or the Dementers were in school. In a way, this was far, far more serious. If this got out of hand, he could be expelled. *I have to tell her. It's the only way to get this sorted* he thought.

Using the invisibility cloak he crept into the girls' dormitory. He paused and took in the sight of Hermione sleeping – her hair was scattered across the pillow and her eyes were screwed up, the way she always slept. Hitting her head to wake her up, he shoved the letter under her head and watched her while she screamed (luckily no one else woke up), frantically stared round for signs of life, spot the letter and read it. She looked disgusted. But then she looked pitiful and as if she wanted to help him.

            *Go for it*

            "It's me." He took off the cloak and she nearly let out another scream. "It's OK," he soothed. "So – will you help me? I don't know if I can face this on my own."

            "Harry – I would love to help you –"

            "OH THANK YOU!" he yelled, throwing himself on her.

            "WAIT!" she whispered loudly. "I'd love to help – but this is so weird. I'm sorry. I can't – not right now. Give me a day or two and maybe I will."

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R&R please. Please. PLEASE. WITH A CHERRY ON TOP AND ANGELS POURING CHOCOLATE SAUCE OVER IT.


	2. The Ronny Weasley Show

**Disclaimer: Not one tiny shred of the basic plot/characters/etc. is mine. OK? Are you happy now?**

(Note: Bits in _italics are dreams, _*asterisks are thoughts* and #hashes are song lyrics, singing, etc.#) 

Chapter 2: The Ronny Weasley Show

Harry slouched back to his room, Hermione's words rolling around inside his head. _Give me a day or two and maybe I will. _Was it really that crazy? Maybe he shouldn't have insulted Ron in the letter. 

No – the reason why she wouldn't help was that it _was_ crazy. And that she'd never come across anything like it before. And possibly she didn't have a clue what to do. 

It was about seven o' clock by now. And although Harry had had some sleep (lying on top of his Charms homework) he felt groggy and disorientated. And since it was Saturday, he decided Charms could go hang and he could go back to bed.

He drifted off into a fitful sleep…

_"Ronny, Ronny, Ronny, Ronny…" the crowd cheered. Ron was at the front of them in a smart suit, with _The Ronny Weasley Show _emblazoned behind him. The crowd continued to cheer and as Ron glanced round, he spotted a large muggle television camera. Facing that with a cheesy grin, he held up the microphone in his hand and said gaily, "Hello and welcome to The Ronny Weasley Show! Today's topic," he continued, silencing the crowd with a wave of his hand, "is I Have A Crush On My Teacher – Help!" The crowd laughed._

_"Our first guest is seventeen. His famous jet-black hair and emerald green eyes enhance the even more famous scar. He currently attends Hogwarts School of witchcraft and wizardry. His defeat of the Dark Lord two months ago  has earned him respect all over the world. Come on out – HA-A-ARRY POTTE-E-ER!"_

_Harry was suddenly shoved out from behind the wings and not knowing what to do, sat on a nearby chair. Ron approached him, and asked, "So, tell us about it."_

_"I first realized I had a crush on my teacher yesterday. I had a strange dream that we were wearing odd costumes and we were kissing. Well, we were about to but then I woke up." The crowd laughed again. _

_"And what were the costumes?" Ron asked evilly. _

_"A pink tutu for her and a muggle fireman's uniform for me," he mumbled. _

_"I see… I think. So let's meet the subject in question –"_

_"WHAT?!"_

_"-she's nearly 52, she teaches one of the main subjects at Hogwarts School as well as being the head of Gryffindor. She has known Harry all his life and took part in the operation to deliver him to the Dursleys. Come on out – MI-I-INERVA McGONAGA-A-L!"_

_McGonagall swept in looking very feminine and charming in a pink suit. Her skirt, Harry noted, was disappointingly long. Humph. She sat down in the chair next to him, and he stared at her shoes. They were pink as well. Her tights had a sheer shine to them. _

_"So, Minerva," began Ron, "Do we have a surprise for you!"_

_"Oh? Well… will I like it?"_

_"I don't know… how would you feel if you found out someone had a crush on you? Or indeed was in love with you?" The crowd went, "Oooh!" and several wolf-whistled._

_"Depends on who it was, Ronny," she said cheekily and the crowd whooped with delighted cheers. _

_"Well, what if I told you he was sitting next to you?"_

_McGonagall smiled at Harry next to her, looked away and looked sharply back again. Her mouth fell open._

_"You?!" She spluttered. "Harry Potter… in love with me?" She fainted dead away. The Ronny Weasley Show crew were desperately trying to revive her and Harry was feeling pretty stupid. _

_"Well, that's all we have time for, folks. And now it's time for the final thought. Harry… maybe you should take this advice – HARRY – HARRY…"_

"HARRY… Harry, what were you dreaming about? You were saying _No, no, no,_ over and over again."

Ron and a bemused Neville were looking down at him. "I was… in a horrible place. You were there…" he pointed to Ron. "And you were really weird…"

"He's still half-asleep," Ron said. He poured a jug of water on his face and Harry sat up sharply. "IDIOT!" he cursed Ron, and hit him in the stomach. "Leave me alone…" and for the first time in a long while he began to cry. Not great heaving sobs, but the tears ran fast down his face. However, Ron and Neville didn't notice as they mingled with the water. 

"Harry – everyone's worried about you." Neville looked pale. He idolized Harry and he hated to see him suffer.

"Well, I'm fine. I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine…" he said, his voice cracking. "Just a rough patch…"

"Of course!" said Ron, slapping his forehead. "Today's your dad's birthday, right?"

"Um… yes," Harry cursed himself inwardly. How could he have forgotten? This whole McGonagall business was taking up too much of his time. And energy. It had to be sorted out – NOW.

Hermione was, of course, in the library. And she was inevitably in the back corner where it was quiet, next to the window and had a table lamp. Harry thundered over, getting odd looks from everyone present. 

            "Well?" he demanded rudely, slamming Hermione's book shut on her fingers.

            "Well what?" she said, rubbing her sore fingers.

            "You know damn well what."

            "Yes. OK. And the answer is – NO." She had the good grace to look ashamed and avert her eyes.

            Harry was stunned for a few seconds. This wasn't like Hermione. She was always ready to help – always. She'd never let him down before. Why now?

            "What?" he said quietly.

            "Harry – this isn't something I can help you with. It's so weird – the oldest, ugliest teacher in the school besides Dumbledore. And you are in love with her. Why? Why are you in love with her?"

            "I don't know."

            "Maybe you're confusing deep deep respect for love."

            "When you respect someone do you dream about them wearing a pink tutu?!"

            "Maybe." Harry just sighed. This was hopeless. He glanced down at the table and saw the book Hermione was reading was _Spells To Disguise Your Emotions Volume Seven – What To do When You Are In Love_. "I did find a spell though," she said quietly. "And it might just work."

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I know this chapter was shorter – still, let me know what you think. R&R please! Now. Now. Now. NOW.


	3. Everyone Knows Now

**Disclaimer: Not one tiny shred of the basic plot/characters/etc. is mine. OK? Are you happy now?**

(Note: Bits in _italics are dreams, _*asterisks are thoughts* and #hashes are song lyrics, singing, etc.#) 

Chapter 3: Everyone Knows Now

To recap: _Hermione was reading was Spells To Disguise Your Emotions Volume Seven – What To do When You Are In Love. "I did find a spell though," she said quietly. "And it might just work."_

"Really? What is it?" Harry enquired.

            "A spell. Look, I don't even know –"

            "What page?" Harry demanded, flicking through the book.

            "298," Hermione said. Harry found the page and saw the spell entitled, "If All Else Fails – Kill His/Her Soul". Harry stared at it.

            "Kill. Her. Soul," he said slowly. He read on. "If the object you desire has no soul, you will certainly fall out of love. No matter what anybody says, love is much, much deeper than skin. Kill the soul, kill the attraction." He looked pale.

            "Yes, but… well. That's a drastic measure," Hermione said. "I guess we could wait a while, but… who knows what you'll do." She blushed.           

            "I'm not going to go mad and kiss her or anything!" 

            "You might reveal your feelings and get expelled. And think – Snape. Malfoy."

            "Blast." He paused for a moment. "Well, we'll wait… how long?"

            "How about four to five months? That's until the summer half term. Then we can figure out what to do over the holidays – if we need to do anything."

            "Isn't that a bit long?"

            "No. Trust me."

            "Hermione, you're a star," he said, hugged her and ran out of the library, once again attracting stares.

That night…

            _*Another bloody dream, * he thought. *What next? * He was in a beautiful field and a picnic of butterbeer, scones with jam and cream, bread, pineapple chunks, pumpkin pie and chocolate frogs (sedated) had been set out on a red and white checked cloth with a wicker basket. It was very Sound Of Music-esque.  _

_            "Oh boy!" he cried, and got to work on the butterbeer. He lifted the lid of the wicker basket to find some more and was face to face with McGonagall's head. He could hardly see the rest of her body, but from what he could see he saw she'd drunk all the butterbeer._

_            "NO! PROFESSOR! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH BUTTERBEER COSTS?!"_

_            "Harry! Didn't expect to see you here. Come on in."_

_            "What – into the basket?"_

_            "Yes, it's very roomy…"_

_            Feeling doubtful, he jumped in and found himself in the fiery pits of hell. Flames leaped around everywhere, and mini devils _for Sheep the Adventurer! _occasionally ran across his toes. Another picnic was set here, but the food was rotten (except for the boiled cabbage) and the butterbeer had flies and dust in it. McGonagall herself was blackened with soot._

_            "It's dangerous down here," she said. "Look, I give it to you now. This is what you'll have if you reveal your feelings for me. We'll be together, but you'll be in hell. On the other hand you could get on with your life."_

_            Suddenly she turned into a trampoline. Harry guessed that was the way out. He jumped on it and found himself back at the picnic. With eight bottles of butterbeer at his side…_

He woke up. *Oh God. Did I really dream that? *

            He realized Cho was standing over him. She looked sad, and tears were streaming down her face. "Harry," she said, her voice cracking. "Hermione talked to me last night. She said… she said you were going a bit mad. What's the matter?"

            "I – um… coursework. Getting on top of me. Hermione said WHAT?"

            "Well. Not as bluntly. But she said you were having a nervous breakdown…"

            *I'll kill her*

            "No. Yes. No. I don't know."

            "Well… I suppose we need to… go on a break. I think it would be best for both of us."

"YOU BITCH!" Harry exploded. Hermione looked defiant, her face red. They were in Harry's dorm room in the middle of a blazing row.

            "I DID IT FOR YOUR OWN GOOD!" She screamed back.

            "MY OWN GOOD? WHAT ARE YOU ON ABOUT?"

            Ron walked in just as Hermione was saying, "WELL, I THINK WHEN YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH A TEACHER YOU NEED ALL THE HELP YOU CAN GET!"

            "Sorry?" asked Ron quietly. He stood behind Hermione and turned her head to face his. "What? Did I miss something? Oh yes – you," he said and kissed her. 'Aaw' and barfing at the same time…

            She pushed away boo and said, "What did you hear?"

            "Oh, that Harry's in love with a teacher – which we all know anyway." Harry gave Hermione an evil look. "No, not from her," Ron continued, "we just guessed. I mean, come on – it was all your come-hither looks, the blushes, and the averted gaze that went towards her chest… I mean, I'm disgusted. But I want to help. It's – it's…" he could hardly finish for laughing. "It's better than – than having a crush on Snape!" He collapsed onto Harry's bed and laughed himself silly.

            "RON! This is serious," Hermione scalded. "This is a serious problem – and if your insignificant brain can't cope with that, then shove off and leave us in peace."

            "Sorry," he said, wiping tears from his cheeks. "It's just… Harry and Snape. Hee, hee. Sorry. So. What have you decided to do? And what was the row about?"

            "Hermione decided to tell Cho that I was having a nervous breakdown."

            "You did what?" Even Ron looked shocked.

            "Well. He is." Hermione mumbled. "Anyway," she rapidly changed the subject very wise, "we said Harry should wait until summer half term, and we can work on the problem in the holidays. After all, we need time for our NEWTS."

            "Good idea. Very good idea. So Harry… that dream…" Ron realized. 

            "What?"

            "That dream Neville and me woke you up from – you were dreaming about McGonagall…" he sung annoyingly. "What was it?"

            "Well… it was like that Muggle show, _The Jerry Springer Show _– Dudley used to watch it all the time – and you were the host of it. It was called _The Ronny Weasley Show_… and you were talking about me being in love with McGonagall… it was horrible."

            "Cool."

However much he tried to hide it, he missed Cho. Yes, in his head he'd been cheating on her (tut, tut) but he wasn't in real life. Nor was he having a nervous breakdown, as Hermione so kindly assumed. He missed Cho in the way that he always had someone to talk to, and she'd actually _listen_. He missed the way she'd do his homework for him (Hermione frowning from afar) if he was too tired from Quidditch Practice. Harry was captain (predictably) – so he had to arrange matches and plan everything. The matches had been cancelled for a week due to Madame Hooch being ill, so at least that was a load off his mind. 

            He could imagine a Quidditch scoreboard with the words, _Due to Harry Potter's perverted mind, his brain has been disabled until further notice. All sensible thoughts have been cancelled for the foreseeable future. _Basically, his coursework was behind (and no amount of magic could fix it) and he wasn't paying attention in class. People skirted round him in the common room (it seemed as if most of them had got the general gist of the previous row) and it was going round the school in an annoying playground tune…

            #Harry loves McGonagall, Harry loves McGonagall…#

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R&R please. Please. Please R&R. R&R s'il vous plait. R&R por favor. Please. 


	4. And So Does She

**Disclaimer: Not one tiny shred of the basic plot/characters/etc. is mine. OK? Are you happy now?**

(Note: Bits in _italics are dreams, _*asterisks are thoughts* and #hashes are song lyrics, singing, etc.#)

Chapter 4: And So Does She

#Harry loves McGonagall, Harry loves McGonagall…#

            The chant drifted around Hogwarts like a nasty bout of flu. Harry heard it ring in his ears all day, in the Great Hall, in the common room, everywhere. It enraged him so much. 

            Hermione was studiously ignoring him. Ron grinned every time they saw McGonagall. Neville followed him like a shadow. Basically his life was a mess.

            And sooner or later she'd find out.

_Harry was in the Great Hall. McGonagall was there, and they were dancing to the Magic Mushrooms. They swayed together, just them, and the air was speckled with silver and red glitter. The semi-darkness enveloped them._

_            "Only you, only me, only here, only now," Harry muttered. "Just us… dancing forever. Oh, Professor, it could be like this all the time. Will you… will you marry me? We could be so happy… just us. In Scotland," he added, hoping to persuade her._

_            "Harry – I would love to…" she said, and kissed him. A long, proper kiss. But there was one thing wrong with it. _

_            It felt like she was rubbing a dead fish on his mouth. It was _awful._ It was the worst kiss he'd ever had – or have. He pushed away, and threw up at her feet._

Two days later, Harry was summoned to Dumbledore's office. For about the trillionth time in his time at Hogwarts. Normally Dumbledore would reveal something about his past, or tell him the Dark Lord was rising. The usual chitchat. But now Harry knew everything there was to know about his past, and he had defeated the Dark Lord two months ago. So there was no usual chitchat. This was serious.

            He followed Snape up to Dumbledore's office. (Normally it was McGonagall… but for obvious reasons Snape had taken him, his greasy hair bobbing up and down… Harry remembered Ron's remark: *At least you don't have a crush on Snape… * although Snape did look good in the right light. ONLY JOKING.) Snape recited the password (_love hearts_) and led him in.

            "Snape, bugger off." Dumbledore ushered him out of the door. "Harry – you are in love with McGonagall. Correct?"

            "Yes."

            "So. We need to kill this attraction… nip it in the bud."

            "Yessir."

            "So… Harry. I am a man of many words, and yet I cannot explain to you this… oh sod it. Sod the usual pish-posh. McGonagall is retiring." Harry gasped. "Along with me. We are going to set up a home in Scotland". He coughed. "Harry, I am old, and so is McGonagall… we need to retire. We have enough money set aside."

            Harry was dumb. In more ways than one. "Why – why – why…?"

            "Oh, Harry lad…" He smiled and sat down. "Now, when a man and a woman love each other very much, they get certain urges. And when-"

            "I KNOW. Sir, I know. So… when are you leaving?"

            "End of the year, Harry. I'm sorry."

            "So am I."

"Leaving?"

            "Yes." They were sitting once again in Harry's dorm and Harry was recounting to Hermione what had happened. Ron was supposed to be listening, but was gazing idly out of the window, watching a _fascinating _fly crawl across it. 

            "So… that means the problem's sorted, I guess."

            "No – because Dumbledore knows."

            "Oh yes. Blast."

            They pondered. They ummed. They aahed. They deliberated. Ron gazed idly out of the window, helping no one. The he said, "Tell her how you feel."

            "WHAT?"

            "Well, what have you to lose?" Harry contemplated this for a moment. What did he have to lose? Dumbledore's respect. McGonagall's respect, possibly. Malfoy – he'd have a field day. Snape – same. The rest of the school could go hang.

            He was most worried about the first two points. *But then again*, said the little devil inside him, *who wants an old geezer's respect anyway? Who needs it? * Whilst the angel positively shrieked, *Think Harry! Dumbledore is one of your oldest friends – in two ways. But he is very important to you. Don't throw it away! * Harry battled with the angel and devil all day. By six o'clock he had reached a decision.

            *Sorry angel – devil wins. I'll see her tonight. *

Hermione looked shocked. "NO, Harry – think about it!"

            "HE SAID TO!"

            "YES BUT HE WAS WRONG!"

            By now a crowd had formed. "Go on, Harry," Seamus yelled. "Go on – it's so sweet!" A group of first year girls (who all fancied Harry like mad) were chanting, "No, no, no," whilst all of the seventh years were telling him to go on. Hermione was almost crying.

            "Harry," she whispered, "Please. Think."

            Harry thought for a second. "RON!" he bellowed. Ron came across the room through the crowd and Harry asked him, "Should I tell her?"

            He also thought for a moment. "I don't know. Go with your instinct. I would."

Harry knocked on her study door.

            "Come in," she called.

            He opened the door and stepped in. The whole room was McGonagall through and through. Tartan décor filled the room until Harry's head spun. McGonagall was in black robes, stroking her cat, Cheesabell, whom she had acquired last year. "Yes, dear?" she said. 

            Harry stood stock-still. The mouth was open; the eyes were blinking; but Mr. Brain had long since departed. Phrase from _Blackadder _there. He carried on opening and closing his mouth like a fish. He felt pretty stupid. He'd come here to reveal his undying love, and all he could do was blink. He had to say something.

            Anything. At all.

            ANYTHING.

            "Crackerjack," he said. Maybe he shouldn't have. McGonagall was looking at him strangely. It was a _Why the hell are you here _look.

            "Professor – I have something to tell you." He said it so quickly it came out as one word. 

 _Iminlovewithyou._" He fell silent. She was watching him with an even expression…

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	5. Oh my God!

**Disclaimer: Not one tiny shred of the basic plot/characters/etc. is mine. OK? Are you happy now?**

(Note: Bits in _italics are dreams, _*asterisks are thoughts* and #hashes are song lyrics, singing, etc.#)

Chapter 5: Oh. My. God.

To recap:  _"Professor – I have something to tell you." He said it so quickly it came out as one word. "Iminlovewithyou." He fell silent. She was watching him with an even expression…_

… "Sorry? What was that?"

            "Um… nothing. Um… well, not quite nothing. I…"

            "Harry – it's OK. I know."

            "You do?" Secretly he hoped it would be _I know… you haven't done your homework. _Or_ I know… what you did last summer. _Or something.

            "Harry, I know you are in love with me." Oh, shitty doo dah. "But Harry – I'm in a relationship already. Look," she said, flashing a ring on her left hand. It was a huge, sparkling diamond with the tiniest garnet encrusted in the middle. It gleamed in his eyes. "I'm engaged!" she beamed.

            *Well, duh. *

            "Congratulations," he said, and was immediately reminded of that stupid Cliff Richard song: #Congratulations/and celebrations/I want the world to know how happy I can be…# "When did it happen?" he asked, mentally stabbing that irritating idiot in his head.

"Last night." Her voice brought him back to reality. She smiled. "He took me back to Scotland on a tartan broomstick, proposed – why am I telling you this?" She sighed. "I'm sorry." He had not listened to a word she said. He was watching her chest rise and fall with every breath…

            "HARRY!"

            "Yes ma'am?"

            "About your coursework…"

He didn't talk to Hermione or Ron. He sat by the common room fire, staring into the flames, trying to quash the overwhelming wave of depression. Ron brought him wizard chess – Harry swatted it away. Hermione brought him some Charms homework – he swatted _her_ away. Ginny brought him some butterbeer – he thanked her, drank it and threw the bottle into the fire. 

            He was restless. He needed to do something. Anything. (Except Charms homework.) He could… learn to play the lute and seduce her. Or he could conjure up a bouquet of flowers and present them to her. Or… he was stuck. How could he make her love him? HOW?

            Maybe he could use that charm… maybe he could kill her soul. NO. NO. What _was _he thinking? If he solved the problem now, I'd not have a fic to write. No. He was in love with her. He couldn't do it. He was in love with her personality, her charm, her grace, and her passion for Transfiguration. He was sort of in love with her looks, although the wrinkles kind of put him off slightly. But her long blonde/gray hair, and her dark blue eyes just made him feel so alive, he couldn't describe it. He wanted her, he needed her, he worshipped the very ground she walked upon. He wouldn't rest until he had her.

He couldn't sleep. He was lying awake going over what McGonagall had said. _"Harry, I know you are in love with me." _ But she hadn't said, _"And I love you too…"  _Which is what he would have wanted her to say. Why oh why… he just wanted her so much. More than the Quidditch Cup this year. More than anything – even more than killing Cliff Richard. 

He could hear the shouts of all the Gryffindors in the common room. How he longed to join in their laughter and frolics, and to share jokes about the day's events. But what he had was a fixation for the most ugly teacher ever and some pretty strange dreams to go with it. And he suspected those dreams would carry on until he solved the problem. Or until he saw a therepist.

But eventually he drifted off into a deep sleep…

            _#The hills are alive, with the sound of mu-u-usi-i-i-c!# McGonagall's voice soared above the mountains, to Heaven and beyond. _

_            #With songs they have sung, for a thousand ye-e-e-ears!# Harry sang back, skipping alongside McGonagall, randomly picking daffodils along the way. When they reached the top of the hill, Harry presented a bouquet of flowers to her with a shy smile. She accepted, and picked the head off one. She closed her eyes and held it to her bosom. Then she spread her palms and watched it drift on the tip of the wind, and she was gone. Suddenly, the sky was overcast and Dumbledore was in front of Harry. He had tears streaming down his face. #Ain't no sunshine when she's gone# he sung mournfully. #Only darkness every day… ain't no sunshine when she's gone and she's always gone too long anytime she goes away…# He finished crooning and looked at Harry with a cold stare._

_            "Why do you want to ruin my life Harry?" he asked quietly. "You defeat my enemy – which _I_ wanted to do – and you bewitch my fiancée. Why Harry? I've been so good to you… Harry…" he sighed and his long beard fluttered in the wind. He breathed deep and appeared to be meditating. His lips formed the numbers one to ten and finally he opened his eyes._

_            "To stop me from beating you to a pulp," he explained. "My therapist says I need to control my inner rage." _

_            "Professor – I'm not ruining your life-"_

_            But he was gone._

_            "SIR! SIR!" Harry cursed and gazed around in desperation. He heard loud sobs coming from his left, and saw a vision of the future… McGonagall was crying over her engagement ring and upon spotting Harry screamed, "YOU! YOU DID THIS TO ME!"_

_            But to his right, he saw himself and McGonagall in a passionate embrace, his hands everywhere… eugh! and behind them Dumbledore was doing 'she loves me/she loves me not' with a daffodil. As he peeled off the last petal he burst into tears. _

Harry woke with a start. Someone was standing over the top of him. 

            It was McGonagall. 

            Without waiting for a response, she kissed him.

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	6. What The Hell Was That?

**Disclaimer: Not one tiny shred of the basic plot/characters/etc. is mine. OK? Are you happy now?**

(Note: Bits in _italics are dreams, _*asterisks are thoughts* and #hashes are song lyrics, singing, etc.#)

Chapter 6: What The Hell Was That?

To recap: _Without waiting for a response, [McGonagall] leaned over and kissed him._

It was only a quick peck on the cheek.

            "Harry lad, my wee little Harry," she said sadly. Then she leaned over and kissed him.

            This time PROPERLY!

            It was amazing. Fireworks exploded in Harry's head, his hands went in her hair, on her arms… it was the most splendid thing he'd experienced in ages. But she was struggling. Harry realized he had been delusional. 

_He _had pulled _her _towards _him_! He was going to get expelled! He let go, and she stared, wild-eyed, down at him lying on the bed. Her hair was all skew-whiff and her glasses were on the verge of dropping off her nose. She looked as if she was going to cry.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she said. "I'll have to report this."

She breezed out of the room (using her wand to tidy herself up) as Harry sat up in bed. Reaching for his glasses, he ran after her.

            "PROFESSOR! WAIT! PLEASE!"

            Unfortunately, it was about midday, so the common room was full. The whole house heard him scream after her. The whole house saw him throw himself at her feet.

            And the whole house saw her swat him angrily away, saying, "You! You _despicable _little boy! HOW COULD YOU EVEN THINK ABOUT DOING THAT?! You have ruined my LIFE, good day to you." The whole house stared as she ran out and Harry recovered his composure on the floor. In the struggle, he had grabbed one of her shoes and a sock. Oops. 

            Ron was the first to recover. "Harry?" He knelt beside him and helped him up. He practically lifted him up the stairs to the boy's dormitory, and sat him back down on the bed. Hermione followed, looking pale. 

            "Harry, what _was _that? Did you… you _know_…" Ron grinned wickedly.

            "NO! God, no. But…"

            "But what?"

            "I kissed her." He lowered his head to avoid Ron and Hermione's eyes, but he could still hear their gasps. He could just picture it – Hermione trying not to cry in despair, and Ron going pale and opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish. He looked up and saw they were both looking strange… they looked _haunted_. He then felt so guilty, and realized what pain he had inflicted on him. Yes, Harry Potter _can _have deep and meaningful thoughts. 

            "Harry. She said – she was going to report it? That's – pure – sense, in a way, but evil." Hermione sighed and Ron put his arms round her. "What are you going to do? What about the plan?" she said, still holding Ron.

            "Hide. I will use my invisibility cloak to hide away from the world until I finish my NEWTS."

            "Harry…"

            "No. That is my plan. And I am sticking to it. Look, Hermy, I am desperate now. I need a plan that will see me out of school."

Later that night, he tucked the shoe and sock under his pillow, and placed his head upon it, with a sigh of despair and longing. "Minerva," he breathed. "What have I done to deserve this?" 

At about two in the morning, he had another dream.

            _A lonely castle on a windswept moor. McGonagall was riding bareback on a black stallion. She reached the gates, and knocked._

_            "Who goes there?" came Dumbledore's voice._

_            "Tis I, Minerva McGonagall, head of Gryffindor and love object of the famous Harry Potter."_

_            "Prithee? Good. Do come in, oh fair maiden."_

_            The gates opened, and she rode in. She dismounted her horse and stepped into the vast foyer. She gazed around at the red and purple velvet that draped the walls. Dumbledore came out and with a pervy smile took off her coat. He was in a glorious golden gown and was very well toned up. His shoes were silver and red. His beard gleamed in the half-light…_

_            Unbeknown to them, Harry was hiding behind a curtain and could see everything. He saw Dumbledore lead her to the dining room, so he followed. He watched her sit on a miniature throne studded with gold and platinum buttons at a mahogany table. He found a hiding place behind the door under an end table and gasped._

_            The food was _amazing. _There was a turkey, a chicken, a whole cow, a whole lamb, broccoli, mushroom _God, I love mushrooms, _marrow, lobster, minestrone soup, tomato soup, peas, chickpeas, salmon, French bread, English bread, peppers, watermelon, gooseberries, blueberries, carrot, cabbage, pasta, pizza, rice, and haggis of course! There were also some strange looking vegetables that had been mutated from Muggle ones… _

_            "Tuck in, Minnie love."_

_            Harry watched aghast as she ate through the whole feast. He looked at his watch. She started at two… he looked again – three. He looked again – five. And by now she was only halfway through._

_            By eleven o' clock she had eaten the last bite. She had not gained any weight and nor did she seem full. But she was happy – so happy. He could see it in her eyes. _

_            Then they were transported in a whirl of pink and red and black to a run-down country cottage. McGonagall walked up to the rusty door and knocked._

_            Harry shouted, "Come in, you tramp."_

_            She walked in and gazed in disgust at the threadbare walls, and the worn carpet. Harry was old and fat, and dressed in fading denim dungarees and a red t-shirt. He had no shoes. His hair was greasy, as was his face. His glasses were held together with Sello-tapeTM. _

_            He led her through the house to a small brown room with an even smaller wooden table. There was once loaf of bread and some stale butter. The chair cracked dangerously as she sat down on it. _

_            "Tuck in, Minnie love," he said. _

_            Within half an hour she was done. And she looked so unhappy._

He drifted awake. He remembered his dream, and thought about what it might mean. 

            It meant that she could never be happy with him. She needed Dumbledore.

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Fear not, my fanficcy friends! There is more – much more – to come. 

Next chapter promises to be more interesting. 

REVIEW. They make me so happy I could SING!


	7. The Plot Thickens As Snape Goes Mad

**Disclaimer: Not one tiny shred of the basic plot/characters/etc. is mine. OK? Are you happy now?**

(Note: Bits in _italics are dreams, _*asterisks are thoughts* and #hashes are song lyrics, singing, etc.#)

Chapter 7: The Plot Thickens As Snape Goes Mad

Harry was of course deeply depressed by his most recent dream. But he knew what would sort it.

            Butterbeer! He hopped down the stairs, and checked his watch along the way. Seven am. Goody. Two hours of drinking until lessons, the first being Potions (groan). He found a bottle of butterbeer that someone had left half full and drained it. Then he realized there wasn't any more. 

            Without bothering to dress, he threw his robes on and ran to the Great Hall. As he entered, the whole hall froze. The only sound was Neville reaching for the pumpkin juice. Then Malfoy saw sense and made kissing noises until someone cast a body-lock spell on him. Probably Dumbledore.

            Harry sat down and reached for the pumpkin juice and took a long slug of it. He glanced round the table – Neville looked nervous, Hermione looked absorbed in her book (_Potions For The Precocious Wizard_ volume III), Ron was sleepily eating toast and trying (and failing) to understand Hermione's book, and Seamus was just being Seamus – ie, eating. Eating lots.

            There was no butterbeer. *Oh well* he thought. *I can live without.* Then he remembered that Potions was first, and went off to find some more at Hagrid's.

"Hello, students," Snape said with a strange gleam in his eye. He looked… different. He looked _happy._ The students gazed in shock at him and he started singing…

            #I want to break free! I want to break free! I want to break free from you lives, you're so -# then he stopped and rolled his eyes three times. He drooled. And asked them to open their books at page 32. Now. This instant. Or they'd get a fortnight's detention.

            "Is it me or is Snape going mad?" Harry whispered to Hermione next to him.

            "He seems to be suffering from some sort of nervous breakdown," she whispered back as Snape drew a naked Dumbledore on the blackboard, his fingers working feverishly. He finished, stood back and admired his work. Hermione shot an eraser charm on his rude bits (drawing of Dumbledore, not Snape) and Pavarti squealed in protest. She blushed and covered her mouth. 

            None of the students worked. They were all watching Snape as he drew a whole menagerie of naked teachers, with him at the front. Hermione shot an eraser charm on all of them and received a fortnight's detention from Snape. 

            Something was definitely up. 

"He drew them? That's not too bad," Ron said (he wasn't in their potions class – he gave up as soon as possible.)

            "He drew them… naked, Ron. Naked. Ugh," said Hermione shuddering. "I'm mentally scarred forever."

            "NAKED?!"

            "Naked."

            "Shit," said Ron. He grinned. "Did he do McGonagall?"

            "Shove off, pillock," Harry moaned, swiping at him with his ever-present Charms homework.

            "Well… what's wrong with him?"

            "Old age," Hermione said lazily. "He's used magical surgery to retain his youthful good looks," she said.

            Harry and Ron stared at her.

            "To retain his looks," she amended, "and it does have side effects. Madness, if you leave it long enough. God, he must be about… oh, I don't know. 167…"

            "As I suspected," Harry said, stroking his chin, while Ron cracked up. 

            "Got to go," Hermione said. "Library," she got up and kissed them both on the cheek and left. Nobody noticed Neville in the corner, wearing a look of pure malevolence.

So Harry still had a problem. He wanted McGonagall. McGonagall wanted Dumbledore. Dumbledore wanted Harry to shove off.

            He did a lot of thinking that night. Should he go for it and ruin his teacher's life? Or should he leave it and go insane… like Snape?

            _Harry was acting out Swan Lake. He pirouetted, he gracefully slid across stage._

_            He was wearing a pink tutu._

_            McGonagall was dancing with him. They acted out a love scene, looking with yeaning into each other's eyes…_

_            *Wow, she's beautiful. I love her more than ever…* he thought._

_            *What the hell am I doing here?* McGonagall thought. *I'm supposed to be seeing a film with Albus*._

_            They continued to dance. McGonagall tried to fight it. Harry pulled her in even more. His face was embedded in her chest. He was in heaven…_

_            McGonagall was not. She wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. And she wanted to get this bespectacled git out of her cleavage.  _

_            The music stopped._

_            All was silent._

_            Then there was a distant wailing, and it was coming from the back of the hall. A male voice. Well. Two. Albus and Neville were wailing in harmony (how sad). They walked in unison to the stage of the empty auditorium and walked up the stairs. _

_            "Aah, aah, ah…" they finished. They paused. Then the both talked at once with a sudden burst of speed._

_            "Minerva –"_

_            "Harry  -"_

_            "This is getting strange –"_

_            "I have something to tell you!"_

_            "STOOOP!" Yelled Minerva. "Neville – you first."_

_            "Harry – I know why you're having these dreams."_

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Sorry for short chapter but I was in a rush. 

Anyway, you know the drill. R&R!


	8. The Plot Thickens So Fast It Could Be Bu...

**Disclaimer: Not one tiny shred of the basic plot/characters/etc. is mine. OK? Are you happy now?**

(Note: Bits in _italics are dreams, _*asterisks are thoughts* and #hashes are song lyrics, singing, etc.#) 

NOTE: THE LAYOUT OF MY SCHOOL MAY BE DIFFERENT TO THE ACTUAL ONE. NO FLAMES RE: OOC-ishness.          

Chapter 8: The Plot Thicken So Fast It Could Be Butter

To recap: _"STOOOOOOOOOP!" Minerva yelled. "Neville – you first."_

_            "Harry - I know why you're having these dreams."_

Harry was so annoyed. Just before he was about to find out why he's been having these strange dreams (albeit from Neville, who was even worse than Harry at Divination) he woke up. He. Woke. Up.

            The feelings boiled up inside of him. "AAAARGH!" he yelled, sending everyone in the dorm into hysterics after being woken up. He beat his chest, he beat his pillow, and he yelled once more. It didn't help.

            By this time all Gryffindor had come to see the spectacle, yet Harry was oblivious to them. He continued to rage and rant, while Ron, Hermione and (surprisingly) Neville comforted him and told him, "_Calm down… it's alright…" _like he was some unruly child. Which mentally he was.  

In the hospital wing (on magical tranquillizers) he pondered life, the universe and the nature of existence. I lied. He pondered his attraction for McGonagall, and suddenly hit on the answer. NEVILLE. In his dream, Neville knew. In real life…

            By a sheer stoke of luck, Neville walked in. Harry was happy to see him – a new experience, it seemed. "Neville! Neville," he whispered urgently. "Neville – get your ass over here." Neville walked obediently over, like a mouse. "Neville – I have something to tell you…"

            Harry regaled the whole charade, which had started a week ago now. He told of his dreams, his failed attempts of 'wooing' and his complete and utter misery, leaving out his latest dream. Neville bit his lip the whole way through. By the end his bottom lip was reduced to shreds. He mopped up the blood and said, "But what's that got to do with me?"

             "Well, in my last dream, you were there and… and you said… you know why I am having these dreams. And I wondered…"

            Neville cut in suspiciously quickly. "No, I don't, I don't! I – I have to go," he panicked and fled. Harry sank back into the impossibly uncomfortable pillows. Before he could even draw breath, Hermione came in.

            "Harry – Neville's really upset. What did you say?"

            "Oh, only that he knew what was going on. That he knew why I am having these dreams. The usual," he added sarcastically. Hermione didn't look pleased… but remembering he had reassembled his status from "hero" to "absolutely stark raving loony pervertedly mad" she rearranged her face and asked evenly, "Oh. Well, why did you say that?"

            "Because in my dream he said so," Harry whined. "He said 'I know why you are having these dreams'. WHY DOESN'T ANYONE BELIEVE ME?" He suddenly grabbed his pillow and ripped it with his teeth. Hermione slowly backed away…

*Can't believe I have to spend the night HERE, * Harry moaned internally. He had been brought chocolate frogs (by Ron), Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans (Hermione), rock cakes (untouched, since they were from Hagrid), Butterbeer from the whole of Gryffindor (drunk in five minutes) and worst of all – a present from Minerva. It was wrapped in gold paper with a red tartan bow. Harry opened it and saw the most beautiful hat buckle he had ever seen. It was pure diamond and silver. It gleamed in his eyes…

            "Ooh, I could flog that at the London Muggle market for a tenner of galleons, I could," Snape drooled from the next bed over. Harry turned sharply, reached over and pulled the curtain back. It was as he feared – Snape was indeed in the bed next to him. "You know, Harry lad," he drawled, doing an excellent Clint Eastwood impression, "you know, this dilemma of yours – went through the same. Oh yeah. Man," he whispered. 

            "The same?"

            "Oh yeah, baby, oh yeah. Not as a student, mind, but as a teacher. We were an item, Harry lad, we were an item." Obviously Snape was revealing his undying love in his state of madness. *I wonder when his tranquillizers will take effect* Harry wondered, before Snape continued. "Yeah, we had a thing going on about ten years back…"

            "And you didn't carry it on?"

            "Ah well, you see, therein lies the catch. We're still together. You – me – Dumbledore… It's one happy love square thingy," he exclaimed, before his tranquillizers took effect and he fell back onto his pillow in a deep sleep.

This of course pissed off Harry immensely. HE was in love with her, SNAPE was in love with her, and DUMBLEDORE was the one she chose to be with. Yet she carried on her affair with Snape. And that is why she rejected him. (Putting aside the age difference – yet Snape is 167… a difference of about 110 years… Ah well.)  He picked up the hat buckle and turned it over in his hands. 

            He heard a wailing from next door – the unused Girl's Room. A familiar wailing. Neville. He was wailing an old old song… #I want to break free/I want to break free… I want to break free from your lives you're so self satisfied I don't need you…# Harry decided to investigate. After all – that was HIS song!

            He put his glasses on and crept out of bed – first making sure that Snape was definitely asleep – and across the Hospital wing, out of the hall and into the bathroom. He had forgotten his invisibility cloak (well, wouldn't you if you'd suddenly gone mad?!) so he went in and hid in a toilet cubicle when Neville's back was turned. He was standing around a cauldron, which contained PINK LIQUID, and Neville looked resoloute. Thankfully he had stopped singing but was muttering under his breath a name… "Harry Potter… Harry Potter… oh, Harry… what have you done to yourself?" he asked himself as he put the pink liquid in a vile.

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The plot has indeed thickened. 

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	9. A Decision Is Made At Last

**Disclaimer: Not one tiny shred of the basic plot/characters/etc. is mine. OK? Are you happy now?**

(Note: Bits in _italics are dreams, _*asterisks are thoughts* and #hashes are song lyrics, singing, etc.#)

**Chapter 9: A Decision Is Made At Last**

Harry was stunned. He wasn't doing NEWT level Potions for nothing. He was quite good at Potions really – except you have to see at this point he was still quite mad, and still slightly sedated. So he couldn't figure out what the potion was. 

            Neville went out of the room and Harry followed. Oh horror of horrors! NEVILLE WAS GOING TO THE HOSPITAL WING!

            Harry ran like the wind. He took a short cut (known only to him from the Marauder's Map) and was back in bed with a slight pinkish tinge to his face before Neville drew breath. Well, not quite. Neville had taken several breaths, but you know what I mean.

            "Harry! Harry," Neville wheedled.     

            "Geez, Neville, what the ___ are you doing? Do you know what time it is?" Harry rubbed his eyes as if he had just woken up.

            "Sorry – found this. Thought it might help. Here, take it," he said, handing him the vile. Harry took it gingerly and drank it. Nothing felt different. He sighed, and gave the vile back. *Thank God Neville is crap at potions*

The next day, Harry was let out of hospital. Hooray. He joined up with Hermione, Ron and inevitably Neville, who clung to Harry like a limpet's shadow. They had a good laugh about Snape (although Harry left out the part about Snape's relationship with McGonagall) and decided they were indeed mentally scarred. For life. I mean, Dumbledore – naked. And since then the whole school had tittered as Dumbledore went past, and made comments like "Well, McGonagall must be thrilled!" Perverted, I know. But hey, that's adolescents for you.

            Harry was laughing. Lots. He laughed in Potions at the substitute teacher Professor Enchantica, who tried (and failed) to make an Achievement Potion. He laughed when Professor Binnes made a pass at the Bloody Baron, thinking him to be a new female ghost. He laughed until he peed himself when Malfoy was pretending to be Dumbledore and was placed in detention by McGonagall. The tranquillizers were taking their toll.

            Speaking of McGonagall, Harry was still fixated by her (though not in an absolute stark raving loony mad sense…) He still imagined her hair dappled against the sunlight, he imagined her dark eyes sparkling… and he could only imagine, as Dumbledore had (wisely) had his Transfiguration work sent to his common room so Harry could avoid lessons. He worked steadily in his common room, with only the fire for company. And as he gazed above his bed at night, he saw the joke poster Ron had given him last summer while he was at the Dursley's (defeating the Dark Lord made no difference to his lodging arrangements, apparently – they only let him stay at Ron's if and when he ran away):

If you feel you are alone, then you are not alone – and yet you are alone. So very alone… 

He was indeed. He was indeed alone. Just him and his perverted thoughts about the teacher he was never allowed to see.

"HARRY!" 

_            *Another bloody dream! Does the torture never end? * He thought angrily.  He gazed around the blackness and saw Neville creeping towards him, and McGonagall, and Hermione, and a demented Snape (as always, messily drooling), and Ron, and Ginny, all closing in around him. Chanting, "Harry, Harry, Harry Potter, Harry, Harry, Harry Potter…" They were quite menacing. Except perhaps the virtual Snape, who had been distracted by a half-naked Professor Hooch. _

_            "What have I done?" Harry asked. They continued to chant softly while Neville recited an extremely bad self-written rhyme…_

_Harry Potter, oh Harry Potter_

_Of this strife you've had a lotta_

_Eight days now, or is it nine_

_For all this time, I can define_

_You're in love my friend, in love_

_Your soul set free just like a dove_

_But what to do, what to do_

_When that love is not showered unto you?_

_This mess you're in, oh this mess you're in_

_This whole time was a time of sin_

_Eight days now, or is it nine_

_For all this time, I can define_

_You have a way out, way out_

_So you asked your friend who did pout_

_Said what to do, what to do_

_When a mental illness is upon you?_

_Goodbye Harry, Harry goodbye_

_I'll leave you now, your soul to die_

_Eight days now, or is it nine_

_This present time I can't define_

_So, make your choice, your choice_

_Your decision flag wilst thou hoist_

_Now what to do, what to do_

_I leave now, Harry, it's all up to you._

_They backed away slowly, still chanting. Snape was still ogling the half-naked Professor Hooch, and had to be dragged away by McGonagall. _

"WHAT THE HELL???" *Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.* He clamed down and resisted the urge to storm up to Neville and unreasonably demand why he was invading his dreams. Unless he knew. Twice he had hinted he knew what was going on. Harry was starting to wonder what the hell Neville was doing – haunting him, invading his private dreams, giving him strange liquids in the dead of night. He wasn't right in the head. Then again, neither was Harry, but since this is Harry's PoV then he didn't spot this. Harry sat up in his bed and thought for a second or two (a new experience). Ok, this was getting crazy. He had to stop this now – with or without Neville or Hermione's help. 

            His mind was made up.

"Genila liklln," he murmured. "Genila liklln," he murmured again. Could he do it? _Yes_. He could, and he would and he should.

            He knocked on her study door, preparing to shield his eyes against the tartan. She opened the door, and Harry swept in, kissed her on the lips and aimed his wand.

            "GENILA LIKLLN!!" he yelled. The purple light shot at her, and she fell to the floor, black vapour rising off her body…

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Suspense…

R&R.


	10. Blender Mixed Emotions

**Disclaimer: Not one tiny shred of the basic plot/characters/etc. is mine. OK? Are you happy now?**

(Note: Bits in _italics are dreams, _*asterisks are thoughts* and #hashes are song lyrics, singing, etc.#)

(I was listening to Coldplay's "Trouble" whilst doing this, so it's really depressing…) 

**Chapter 10: Blender-Mixed Emotions**

Manic laughter mingled with manic sobbing floated through Hogwart's thronging corridors. It was coming from Harry. Watching the back fog rise off McGonagall's body, knowing she would on no account come back again, was a release and a great sorrow. He had killed her soul – and that was irreparable.

                        The school heard his frenzied cries and door after door opened. Potions class was the first to find Harry Potter at the scene. He was crouching over the body slapping her face. Her eyes opened and she stood up. Harry looked into her eyes and saw nothing. No sign of life. She went back to her desk and started to mark the work she was in the middle of. She was on autopilot, basically. The potions class watched in awe as Harry got up and sauntered past them, showing no signs of guilt, or grief. 

                        Unless his tears were a giveaway. 

                        Hermione was stunned. Too stunned to even grab his arm. She just stared after him as he woozily made his way back to the Gryffindor common room. 

                        When he got back, he sat by the fire, doing his Transfiguration work, unaware of the bustle around him. The bustle being the whole of Gryffindor looking at him and speaking in quiet whispers about his little remaining sanity. Hermione sat next to him in the worn leather chair, studying his face intently.

                        Trying to figure out the mind of a psychopath.

Dumbledore hadn't heard of his lover's exodus. He was trying to teach Fawkes to swear.

                        "Bastard, Fawkes. Say 'bastard' for papa!"

                        "Bog off." 

                        "Well, at least you've learnt something." He sighed and sat back down. He gazed at the brochure longingly. It was pink and had the title "Magical Memories Wedding Venues" inscribed across it. He opened it at the "5-Wand Luxury Wedding Hall" and sighed contentedly. She'd love it. He could do it up in tartan, and have bagpipes instead of organ pipes; the list was endless. His lovely thoughts were interrupted by a loud rendition of Bon Jovi's "It's My Life" by a warbling Snape as he moseyed on to Dumbledore's office. (He'd escaped from hospital and no one could be bothered to send him back. Besides, Potions was starting to be fun when he went into a 'mood'.) He banged the door open and grinned madly.

                        "Your wifey-to-be is dead, sir."

                        "Sorry?"

                        "Well. Her soul is anyway." Dumbledore paled and then turned an interesting shade of green.

                        "Show me," he said hoarsely. Snape drooled in response and led the way to her office. When they got there, Dumbledore pushed round the crowd of still-stunned students and went up to the desk at which she sat. He looked into her eyes and wept a little…

                        "Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. BREATHE YOUR LAST!" he yelled like a war cry and he apparated to the Common Room. Harry glanced up from his work and smiled sweetly. "Hello, sir."

                        "Harry Potter."

                        "Yes?" There was a slight pause. The tension was mounting…

                        "Harry Potter – did you just destroy Professor McGonagall's soul?" 

                        "Yeah. I mean, it had to be done."

                        Dumbledore just stared aghast. "It did?"

                        "Yeah. You see, I was in love with her, which you already knew. So Hermione found this spell, and it said if I killed her soul, then I would be out of love. And it worked!" he finished triumphantly. He grinned, and then stopped when he saw Dumbledore's sadness. "Sir – are you upset?" he asked gently. 

                        "OF COURSE I AM!!!" he yelled, then swept out back towards his love. He picked her up and took her to his office, where he sat day and night trying to find a cure. He searched every single book the school boasted. He asked every single teacher. No one knew how to solve it. It seemed as if she was gone forever.

A week later. The school was holding a memorial service for the late (sort of) professor McGonagall in the Great Hall. Harry however, wasn't there.

                        Harry was in the common room, alone. Finally feeling the guilt at last. He realized what he had done. He realized how many lives he'd ruined (2). 

                        He wasn't totally alone though. Hermione had hung back, and unbeknown to Harry was under the Invisibility cloak. She was watching him with narrowed eyes... and her ears pricked up (well, not _exactly_) when he started a monologue... "Why? Why did I do this?" He buried his head in his hands as Hermione crept closer. "I can't believe I was so stupid – I've ruined so many lives – McGonagall's, Dumbledore's, most importantly my own... someone has been giving me something – I can't have done this in my right mind...!" Suddenly, Hermione knew what was going on. She stifled a gasp with her hand. Harry's head shot up. He ignored it and carried on, pacing around the common room. "I mean, someone must have given me a potion or charm... yes... but who? Who did this? Has to be a Gryffindor... has to be a girl... obviously fancies me like mad. Or something like that. Yes – Gryffindor, female... maybe Ginny? Yeah, I bet it was Ginny. Or Cho. No, wait – can't be. Or... Lavender? Nah. Ron? Oh wait – he isn't female. I forgot. Or... oh my God. What if it's Hermione?"

                        Hermione sighed irritably and removed the Invisibility Cloak. "Hi," she said.

                        "GAAH! YOU!"

                        "Yes. Me. Anyway. Harry, I know who did it."

                        "Did what?"

                        "Did this to you."

                        His face visibly brightened. "You do?" he squeaked. He stood up and shook Hermione's shoulders. "Who, who, who?" he asked frantically.

                        "Stop shaking me and maybe I'll tell you."

                        He promptly sat down. 

                        "It was Neville."

                        "Neville? Why?"

                        "Harry – Neville's in love with you."

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R&R if u want to find out why!!!


	11. Heartbreak Hotel At Hogwarts

**Disclaimer: Not one tiny shred of the basic plot/characters/etc. is mine. OK? Are you happy now?**

**(Note: Bits in _italics are dreams, _*asterisks are thoughts* and #hashes are song lyrics, singing, etc.#)******

**Sorry I was so long updating! I promise the chapters will come thick and fast after this****…******

**Chapter 11: Heartbreak Hotel At Hogwarts**

"Neville? Neville? In love with – with me?" Harry sat down weakly and narrowed his eyes in thought. "Can – can – can you explain – please?"

"Yes," she said softly. "But first you need to calm down…" she patted his shoulder and then sat down herself. "Ok. Harry, Neville's always been in love with you. He told me in third year. He just realized it one day… but anyway. It's clear you're not gay. And Neville knew that. So he made a potion – a love potion. You know how crap he is at potions," she paused as Harry struggled to comprehend this information. "And he made it wrong and you fell in love with McGonagall. And… well, that's about it."

Harry thought for a moment. *McGonagall… gone… my doings… Neville – gay?…* His mind suddenly clicked and he knew what he had to do. But not yet. Not tonight – not n McGonagall's memorial night. "You haven't explained about the dreams though." "Ah! A side effect of love potions. The object you desire will be featured in your dreams, and each of them will have a meaning. I'm not too sure about your pink tutus though…" she said with a wicked grin. Harry smiled too, then his face went white as he realized what could happen to him…

"Hermione – I could get expelled!"

"Yes, I know. And I have a plan…"

"What?"

"It may not work."

"So? I don't care."

"Well… they can't expel you if you're mad."

"But I'm not!"

"Ah! But therein lies the game…"

Back in Potions. Hurrah for Harry. However, Snape was still mad, so that livened things up a bit. But his favourite pastime was "For She's A Mentally Dead Girl" sung to "For She's A Jolly Good Fellow", which did not please Harry. He kept his head down and… well, pretended to be mad. He used Snape's actions as a basis for his own behavior. He even offered to help Snape tidy the Potions cupboard just to study him. That truly_ was _mad. 

He still hadn't confronted Neville though. He wanted to, so much. He wanted to send a Howler, he wanted to scream and shout, he wanted to KILL him. But he hadn't seen Neville all week. And whenever Neville saw him, he fled. But Harry had a plan.

Late that night, the unused girls' bathroom was filled with an interesting fragrance. It was the fragrance of a potion, being brewed not by Neville but Harry. He was crouching over it, rubbing his hands. *Maybe I am potty,* he thought, *but Neville… he MUST be mad. I can't believe – ah! It's ready…* The potion had turned a pale silver colour. Harry took one of the vials Neville had foolishly left and put some of the potion into it. He stared at it. This potion, this little 10 millilitre bottle, could be his salvation. All he had to do was get Neville to drink it.

Breakfast the next morning was the ideal opportunity. Harry was first down to the Great Hall, and he filled a glass with pumpkin juice and the silver liquid. He waited half an hour, and finally a nervous looking Neville crept in. Harry pounced on him like a cheetah.

"Gee, Neville, you look washed out," he said. "Have some of this!"

Neville took it, smiling, and drank it. His face changed and he looked a bit shocked. It had worked. Covering Neville's mouth, Harry dragged him out of the hall. Down to the unused girls' loos. 

"OK, Neville – talk. Why did you do it?"

"I did it because I love you," he said. Truthfully. For what Harry had fed him was a Truth Potion. "I have wanted you since first year." Neville was trying to stop talking, but the truth potion had taken effect. It as too late… "I told Hermione and she said she wouldn't tell. And when you started going out with Cho again this year, I was so jealous you wouldn't believe. So I made the potion but it went wrong."

"So what happens now, Neville?" 

"I don't know. I never realized you'd go mad, or kill her soul. Heck, I didn't even know I'd brewed it wrong. Is there any way to get her back?"

"I don't think so. Dumbledore hasn't come up with a solution, so I guess… I guess I've completely screwed up this time. Hah. The Boy Who Lived manages to commit the worst crime possible – the charm equivalent of a Dementor's Kiss. Oh well done Harry! Pat on the back!" he exclaimed sarcastically. "I have no idea what to do," he moaned. He sat down on a loo seat. 

"Nobody said it was easy," Neville sang a little Coldplay. He sat down on the floor beside Harry and thought about just how lovely he was, how kind, how gentle… he was so beautiful too. *I wonder* Neville thought, *is it possible for men to be beautiful?* He contemplated this, and stroked Harry's knee slightly.

     Harry swatted Neville away and continued thinking. Harry was thinking what a prat Neville was, and what a mess he'd made of his life. Him and Neville. Harry had killed a person's soul, and Neville was… well, just Neville. The whole school was talking about Harry, which he hated. He briefly wondered if he could blame Ron (who was convenient in situations like this), but he knew he couldn't. And also, Dumbledore was so tempted to expel him – if he hadn't defeated the Dark Lord he'd be out of the school so fast his feet would burn.  

      He was still in this pickle. And there was no way that he could see of getting out of it.

~#~#~#~ Mistress Of The Manuscript ~#~#~#~

R&R this lovely new chapter. Suggestions for plot development welcome!!


	12. Nobody Said It Was Easy

**Disclaimer: Not one tiny shred of the basic plot/characters/etc. is mine. OK? Are you happy now?**

**(Note: Bits in _italics are dreams, _*asterisks are thoughts* and #hashes are song lyrics, singing, etc.#)**

Sorry I was so long updating! I wrote this while on holiday in Spain – where my bag was stolen. That git who stole it is deranged… anyways, enjoy! And review, of course.

**Chapter 12: Nobody Said It Was Easy **

Harry awoke suddenly. It was a good job he did, because his dream was Neville and McGonagall singing _I Got You Babe _(Courtesy of Sonny and Cher), both in itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny yellow polka-dot bikinis. NOT good.

                  He glanced at his bedside clock – 4:53 am – and had a vague feeling of dejá-vu. Wasn't it only about two and a half weeks ago he had awoken in the middle of the night, worrying about his transfiguration homework? It seemed like a century ago. As Neville had quoted yesterday (wisely, but out of tune), nobody said it was easy. And now… now Neville had become his shadow, seeking Harry's praise and/or attention wherever they went, and most of the school (including some teachers – except Snape) were studiously ignoring him or giving him Evil Stares whenever possible. The Slytherins, however, managed to turn Harry's breathinginto a sonnet, poem, story, or song about McGonagall. The most recent was Pansy Parkinson's, based on the movements of Harry's fingers on the Potions desk, suggesting that he was yearning for McGonagall:- 

So fair art thou with rising grace

All I want is to touch your face

I burn for you, I yearn for you

Oh please, say you love me too?__

You'd think that, considering this is Pansy Parkinson we're talking about, this is very touching and clever. However,_ because_ this is Pansy Parkinson we're talking about, she had copied it from a textbook. Actually, I made it up, but whatever… Nonetheless, she received a warm round of applause.

                  Harry sank back into his pillows in despair, feeling defeated. It was like he was just trying to climb a high wall, and he couldn't get over. But then his survival instinct took over (easy, tiger) and he proceeded to make a list of ways to bring her back. Not because he fancied her, mind. He just wanted to leave school with a clear conscience…

Kiss her, like in the fairytales. (Yeah, like that's going to work…)

Make own spell. (But how the hell do I do that?)

Get Hermione to make a spell for me. (Yeah, like she'll help…)

Make a potion to wake her. (How will she swallow it?)__

He looked at the list and promptly screwed it up. As he thought for the thousandth time, it was hopeless.

                  Nobody said it was easy.

Harry began to haunt the library. The vast volumes of library vaults did little to satisfy him – over 5000 books and no bloody cure for a destroyed soul. *Not that they ever had to use it before…* he thought despondently.

                  Neville sat across the table from him, doing nothing except gazing at him and occasionally making some sort of notes. Inquisitive, Harry got up to get another book and tip-toed up behind him and read over his shoulder:-

_OBSERVATIONS_

Harry chews his bottom lip when concentrating

Harry traces his scar when annoyed

Harry's buttocks clench alternatively when reading

Harry definitely doesn't dye his hair – no roots are showing…

Harry walks like a thin, more graceful gorilla

Harry –__

"What are you doing, Harry?" Neville enquired, staring up at Harry. Stuck for a plausible lie, Harry went with a very fake, "Oh no I've fallen over," and a gentle thud to the floor. Upon getting up he saw Neville had added to the list:

Harry is not a good liar under pressure

*What on earth is Neville up to?* Harry thought briefly, before Neville got up and speedily walked out of the library.

The next day, Harry's hip was sore from the fall. Gingerly rubbing it, he made his way to Charms, where he sat next to Neville. 

                  Except he wasn't there.

                  15 minutes, and both the teacher and Neville were late.

                  30 minutes, and the teacher had turned up (drunk as a post, but nevertheless ready for action) but Neville was still late.

                  3 minutes before the bell, Neville sauntered in. Harry did a double take. It was like looking into a mirror at a fatter Harry. Neville had it all – the hair, glasses, scar, eyes, robes, complexion, lips, dimples… 'Harry' grinned at Harry and sat down, ignoring Professor Flitwick's stern lecture. 

                  "Hullo," he said. Harry gaped, gasped and ran out of the classroom…

                  …with Neville in hot pursuit. 

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Thanks for reading – chapter 13 to follow shortly! I think it's going to end around chapter 17…


	13. Love Is All And Love Is None

**Disclaimer: Not one tiny shred of the basic plot/characters/etc. is mine. OK? Are you happy now?**

**(Note: Bits in _italics are dreams, _*asterisks are thoughts* and #hashes are song lyrics, singing, etc.#)**

**(Chapter title is a line from an Amy Studt song, _Seconds Away_)**

**Chapter 13: Love Is All And Love Is None**

Harry arrived at the unused girls' bathroom, and Neville banged the door after him. Staring at Neville, a.k.a. Imposter Harry, with suffused rage, he grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. Hard.

          "What are you doing?" Neville screamed. 

          "WHAT ARE **YOU **DOING?!" Harry screamed back. "YOU COME INTO LESSONS DRESSED AS ME, RIGHT DOWN TO THE LAST DETAIL! EXCEPT YOU'RE TOO FAT!" Neville looked hurt but Harry carried on regardless. "Do you know how hard this has been?" he said softly, sitting down on the floor. "I fell in love with a teacher, had strange dreams, went mad, was on tranquillizers – all because of you!… and now this! You, idolizing me. It's creepy, Neville. I don't know what you want to achieve, but…" he trailed off. 

          "Harry," Neville said. "You forgot one part. The fact that I'm in love with you, and I have been for nearly seven years. How do you think I feel, watching your life fall to pieces like this? All I wanted was for us to be together, I didn't want any of this. I just wanted it to be Neville and Harry. Together. But I brewed it wrong, I know. I should have made Hermione do it. But I didn't want anyone to know, just in case we did get together, and she told someone. I want your love – genuinely, not by using a potion. But term ends in about ten weeks. Only seventy days left together, and then graduation. We'll go our separate ways, and I may never see you again." Neville joined Harry on the floor, and neither of them spoke for several minutes. 

          "But," Harry said, infringing the silence, "Neville – I still can't see why you want to dress up as me."

          "Harry, I love you for you mind, you wit – and you looks. I want to be you, as well as be with you. I just want to be as kind, as good, as courageous, and… as good looking," he mumbled. Harry was starting to feel sorry for him… especially as tears were gently stroking Neville's crimson face. Neville stared at the floor and carried on. "You see, before Hogwarts, I'd heard about you, and I so wanted to meet you. I was aching to see you, just catch a glimpse… and I did. And you were every bit as handsome as people said. I didn't fall in love with you then. That was later, once I'd got to know you. You were so nice to Ron, and when you saved Hermione from that troll, that was it. I fell in love. Signed, sealed and delivered. And I didn't even know I was gay.

          "I never told my grandma. I knew that, given her age, she'd kick me out the house, and probably have a heart attack. So I kept quiet, and each time she asked why I hadn't got a nice girlfriend, I'd throw a teenage tantrum on purpose. Say I was perfectly normal. When I knew I wasn't, of course. Falling in love with one of the most important magical figures there is… that's not good. My life… everything's changed. I wish I'd never brewed that damn potion! I've ruined so many lives… mine. Yours. McGonagall's. Dumbledore's. I hate myself…" Harry ogled, stunned, while Neville collapsed into heavy sobbing. Revelations indeed! So at least he knew now. But what could he do? Answer: nothing. Harry recognized that he couldn't do anything – it was up to Neville to decide.

All day, Harry drifted around school. He planned on going to lessons, but his feet forced him up to the empty common room to the chair by the fire. Neville stayed in the girls' bathroom, still weeping. But both were thinking hard.

          Harry was thinking about McGonagall. He couldn't figure out a way to make his conscience clear. He couldn't bring her back. Maybe he could conduct a private memorial himself. Get her into Dumbledore's office and maybe… he'd decide when he got there. Do it on the last day. Yes. And that gave him time to think.

          Neville was thinking about what he'd said. All true, unfortunately. He was in love – by Jove he was in love! He adored Harry's every breath. But Harry was definitely straight. And so was Neville. Sort of. Since he'd fallen in love with Harry, but unbeknown to anyone else, himself and Ginny… ages ago – they had kissed. And Neville certainly fancied her. But he wasn't in love with Ginny. Was that possible? To fancy boy and girls? He thought so. He'd heard about it – bisexual, was it? Bi-something anyway. But he didn't think, at the time, it was possible. Now he wasn't so sure. 

A week passed and everything was near-normal. 

Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary happened. 

Apart from Neville hunting out Harry in the dorm, and kissing him.

And Harry kissing back.

~#~#~#~

Apologies for short chapter. I KNOW they're getting shorter! The last one will be a bumper one. It will almost certainly end at 17, unless my typing gets out of control. 


	14. Hermione Accessorizes!

**Disclaimer: Not one tiny shred of the basic plot/characters/etc. is mine. OK? Are you happy now?**

**(Note: Bits in _italics are dreams, _*asterisks are thoughts* and #hashes are song lyrics, singing, etc.#)**

**Chapter 14: Hermione Accessorizes!**

Harry was disturbed by Neville's latest actions, to say the least. And even more disturbed by the fact that he had kissed him back. And slightly confused regarding both actions.

          And while he was thinking this he was still kissing Neville. *Shit* he thought, and pushed Neville away. He looked into Neville's eyes (which were back to normal – Neville had given up on the whole I-want-to-be-Harry saga) and tried to restrain himself from seriously damaging Neville for life. "What did you do that for?" he asked, astounded at Neville's audacity. 

          "I… um… have to go… to the bathroom!" he stuttered, shooting off back towards the common room. Harry sat down weakly on the bed, thinking it all through.

For the next few days, Neville avoided Harry. Not that he minded – he was avoiding Neville too. When they saw each other in the classrooms or corridors, they cautiously looked away. Charms was, of course, particularly awful. For their last piece of coursework, they were asked to do a project in twos with the person sitting beside them – so for this they largely evaded speech and mainly communicated by owl. 

          On Friday, four days after the kiss, Dumbledore made an announcement during dinner in the Great Hall. 

          "Seventh years," he said, silencing the hall with a wave of his hand, "as you may know, this year we're having a Graduation Ball, as an experiment." Predictably, most of the girls started squealing with excitement, and it took Dumbledore five whole minutes to silence them (climaxed with a loud bang of his goblet on the High Table). "It will be rather like the Yule ball, the only difference being you don't have to attend and you may come in whatever clothes you wish. It is to be on 1st July, in here at 7pm until midnight. That is all." He sat down and talked to Snape, who was looking slightly mutinous about the whole thing – until Dumbledore said something and Snape's face brightened considerably…

Harry was seriously considering killing Hermione. All week he'd had, "Maybe pink would suit me more," or, "Can you set me up with someone – I'm not sure I want to go with Ron…" or, "Harr-e-e-e-e! Can you help me with my accessories?" She was turning into a demonic teenage girl – just they type of person she despised the most. Ron was keep away from her at all costs, with excuses of going to the library. This was, of course, deeply suspect. So Harry was left with the whining, needy, clingy, accessorizing Hermione. 

          "Yes, pink is good."

          "No, Ron wants to go with YOU."

          "Yes, wear that god damn hair slide. I don't care."

          And so on. And on, and on, and on, and on, and on… 

…until it was three days before the ball and Hermione was having a crisis.

          "HARRY! I'VE SPILT CHOCOLATE ALL OVER MY DRESS! WAAAAAH!"

          Harry ignored her and carried on reading. 

          "HARR-E-E-E-E-E-E-E!"

          He still ignored her. But she carried on screeching until Harry relented and went to remove the chocolate with a Stain Charm. Hermione would be clever enough to do it herself, but since the Graduation Ball had been announced, she had lost all interest in studies… something was definitely up.

Neville was acting weird about the ball too. He kept shooting Harry suggestive glances, and Harry in return shot back I-want-to-kill-you-you-fat-worm glances. But on the day after Hermione's crisis, two days before the ball, Neville asked Harry a very serious question.

          "Harry," he said carefully , "will you… will you… willyougototheballwithme?"

          After Harry had stopped laughing and realized that he was indeed serious, he said, "Um… well… I don't know." Well, he did know one thing – Harry had no date. All the girls were avoiding him after his soul-killing episode. You have to admit, you wouldn't want to go out with someone who might a) go mad and b) randomly kill your soul after having strange dreams about you in a pink tutu. And Neville didn't have a date either, simply because he was himself. So…

          "I can't Neville."

          "Why the hell not? It'll be a laugh."

          "No."

          "Please?"

          "No."

          "Aw, come on."

          "No."

          "I'll buy you lots of butterbeer –"

          "OK! Yeah, sure. Whatever…" Harry trailed off, realizing two things: he was addicted to Butterbeer and he had nothing to wear.

          Oh, and he had agreed to be gay for a night. The night when he was conducting his 'sending off' memorial for McGonagall. He thought he might take her back to her office to see if she could remember anything as a last ditch attempt – at least so he could know he tried. His mind carefully formulated a plan…

~#~#~#~

Next four chapters are:

15. Day before the ball

16. Ball

17. Ball again

18. Epilogue. 

And then it ends. Ciao! 


	15. The Ball Looms

**Disclaimer: Not one tiny shred of the basic plot/characters/etc. is mine. OK? Are you happy now?**

**(Note: Bits in _italics are dreams, _*asterisks are thoughts* and #hashes are song lyrics, singing, etc.#)**

**Note: I was wrong in the last chapter when I said that this one would be the day before the ball. I meant the hours before the ball. Sorry! :P**

**Another note to a SAD person: **"Ok. This is so gay that **it's not even funny**. What the hell is with al the Authors notes in the WHOLE STORY? **This should be in humor**, not Romance/angst. **It's just sad**." You do realize that Disclaimers are _fundamental,_ and that you contradicted yourself? (See highlighted text.) Question: do you even KNOW what you are typing?! Please read over your review next time, just to avoid similar humiliation. 

One word for you: duh. 

Now… on with the story! Thank you to all other reviewers! I love you all! (Except another flamer, called 'Smart', ironically enough. All he wrote was 'Your story is pure shit' about 16 times. Oh, yes, so clever. I bow down to you. NOT.)

**Chapter 15: The Ball Looms**

It was three o'clock. Lessons had ended, and the Gryffindor common room was buzzing. Hermione was in the center of it all, sucking the enthusiasm in. She was in two minds whether to change her dress colour. "Pink or blue, pink or blue, pink or blue… maybe I should go with green… yes, green," she finally decided, altering it with a flick of her wand. Then she proceeded to do her makeup. Ron stood awkwardly by her in a simple maroon top and jeans. He was constantly reassuring Hermione: "Yes, it's lovely. No, I'd say that eye shadow. I – I need to brush my teeth…" he charged off.

          Harry sat in his dorm, and listening to all the hype downstairs, he was feeling a little bit out of it. Neville was sitting on his bed too. Neither of them felt like getting ready yet. Still, they had 4 hours to go.

          "Neville?" Harry begun.

          "Yeah?"

          "You know what we're planning to do tonight?"

          "Yeah."

          "Could you run it by me again?"

          "Yeah. We go get McGonagall, take her to her own office and try to get her back by making her remember. Failing that, we kill her."

          "Hey, I didn't agree to that!" Harry spun round.

          "Just checking you were listening."

          "OK. We should really get ready."

          "Yeah."

          They dressed in silence, facing away from each other. Neville wore a cream top that did NOTHING for him Trinny and Susannah emerging here…! and a pair of maroon cord trousers. Harry wore a green jumper Mrs. Weasley had sent him last Christmas (as a sort of reminder of his first Christmas at Hogwarts) and some black baggy trousers. Neville painstakingly gelled his hair, Harry just gave his a quick comb. 

          Ten minutes later they were ready. But no one else knew they were going together. Well, not necessarily 'going together', just… escorting each other. Much as he hated to admit it, Harry did not want to be known as gay as well as mad. 

They sat in the common room, whiling away the time.         

          "So…"

          "So…"

          "Maybe we should… um…"

          "No, we've got 3 hours 50 minutes left."

          "Oh."

          A pause.

          "Hermione seems to be enjoying it all."

          "Yeah."

          A long pause.

          "Nice weather."

          "Neville – shut the hell up. We're about to go to our graduation ball, as a gay couple – well…" he corrected, seeing Neville's delighted face, "…we're going together anyway. Without dates. Girls, I mean. And we're about to try to get our head of house – who I recently 'fell in live with' and virtually killed – to remember something –  which I have just realized won't work because SHE HAS NO BLOODY SOUL. SO DON'T TALK TO ME ABOUT THE F***ING WEATHER ON THE MOST STRANGE AND STRESSFUL NIGHT OF MY LIFE."

          Neville whimpered.

They sat, seething in silence. Harry was thinking about the impending ball, and what a horrible non-event it would be. Well, not a non-event as such, just a particularly crap one. He'd drink, dance a little bit, drink, sit in silence, drink, dance a little bit, drink… and so on. 

          Neville was on a high. He was on a date with his one true love. Because he was sure of that now. He fancied girls still – man, was Hermione hot in that green dress – but he was in love with Harry. Put it this way, he wouldn't kick either of them out of bed, but he'd be more reluctant to kick Harry off a cliff. Did that make sense? No? Well, he trusted Harry more than anyone in the world. He would gladly place his life in Harry's hands. This might have been partly due to Harry's life-saving reputation, but Neville thought it was mainly love. 

          Suddenly, a scream rode out from the common room. Harry and Neville charged down the stairs, where unfortunately Hermione had looked at her watch and realized there was only a minute to go before the opening of the ball.

          "QUICK, RON! HURRY!" Ron sighed and followed her out of the portrait hole. Harry and Neville looked at each other. Neville sighed and led the way down the stairs, into the most strange, enlightening and – basically – odd nights of their entire lives. 

~#~#~#~

Reviews welcome – heehee! 


	16. Cinders, You SHALL Go To The Ball

**Disclaimer: I do not own the basic plot/characters, etc. OK? Happy now?**

**Note: _italics are dreams_, *asterisks are thoughts* and #hashes are song lyrics, singing, etc#**

A/N: Hello! Welcome to chapter 16 of The PWOL! I didn't actually expect to get this far – I guess it's just the way the story has panned out. I have to say this has been the most entertaining fanfic to write. And to all my reviewers – you rock! If you like all of this, read the rest of my stuff too. 

**Chapter 16: Cinders, You SHALL Go To The Ball And Attempt To Recover A Soul!**

Harry and Neville could only gasp in shock and wonder at the décor of the Great Hall. It was all white – white as Persian cat, white as snow, white as a white rose. The total house banners had disappeared and had been replaced by waltzing candles. Yes, waltzing candles. Unfortunately, they liked dripping wax upon everybody (a shriek could be heard from Hermione's direction when it landed on her head). And there was a Butterbeer table, and lots of low couches backed against the walls, and glass coffee tables… and Hermione was in the centre of it all, soaking it up in an airhead teenage manner. Ron was looking decidedly embarrassed.

          Meanwhile, Neville ran over to the buffet table (unfortunately run by the Weasley brothers…) and collected seven fig rolls, three bags of crisps, four chocolate frogs and six pumpkin pies. Plus about ten bottles of Butterbeer. 

          "Is there anything you want food-wise, Harry?" Neville shouted across the thronging hall. Many people stopped and stared – possibly thinking *what the f---? *  

          "Um… yeah. I'll have what you have," he shouted back uncertainly. The duo left the hall amidst nervous glances and wandered outside and sat down on the grass. Neville ate noisily while Harry drank greedily.

          "So, when are we going to do this thing?" Neville asked.      

          "When we finish drin – I mean, eating."

Two hours later and Harry was decidedly drunk. How, you may ask, as Butterbeer is not alcoholic? Well, Dumbledore thought that these students had better have a bit of fun. After all, they were all at least 16, so they could choose their own (if slightly tipsy) path in life.

          Foolish man.

          They strolled up to Dumbledore's office dreamily, and knocked on the door. McGonagall answered, still with nothing behind those dark blue eyes. Harry briefly felt his heart sink, and then remembered they were SAVING her, goddamit! 

          "Minerva – come with us," Harry said, and held out his hand for her. Fawkes randomly followed them out of the door as he led her gently through the school to her office. She looked around, her eyes darting back and forth, struggling to take it all in.

          "Here we are," Harry said patronizingly as they entered her tartan office. He sat her down on her chair and picked up Cheesabell, who had begun to purr loudly. "This is your cat," he said. "Cheesabell. Do you remember?" Fawkes suddenly decided t make a lunge at Cheesabell and presently got scratched on the wing. *Stupid bird, * thought Harry. Fawkes then decided to take a little bath in a small silver bowl in the corner of the room. He could also be heard to be shitting in the bowl as well. *Stupid bird, * thought Harry again.

          Fawkes stopped shitting, and a red light shot out of the silver bowl.

          It flashed around the room, bounced off the walls, hit Cheesabell, and pinged off her desk and straight into McGonagall's mouth. She fell back onto the floor, convulsing violently. Harry and Neville ran to help her, and realized there was nothing they could do. 

          All of a sudden she stopped. 

          All was quiet.

          Harry and Neville stopped breathing. 

And McGonagall stood up and exclaimed, "What are you doing in my office?!" 

It was the best sentence Harry had ever heard in his entire life. 

          "McGonagall?" he tested.

          "Yes, Harry?" she said with caution.

          "McGonagall – it's OK. I'm not… I'm not mad. Anymore." She stared for a second and then turned to Neville.

          "What's going on?" she asked. "Where's Dumbledore? What day is it?"

          "Harry gave you your soul back, Dumbledore's at the ball, and it's a Friday."      

          "Good. BALL?! The GRADUATION BALL?! OH DEAR GODS!" She cried and rushed out in a mass of black cloak.

          "Harry?" said Neville nervously. Harry sat down weakly on the floor. "What – what did you do?"

          "I didn't. I didn't do a thing…" Harry was of course feeling rather foolish. 

          Who would have realized all you have to do to get a soul back is to get a phoenix to shit in a Pensive bowl?

**~#~#~#~**

**There you go! But it's not over yet… 2 more lovely chapters to go!! **

**Gnat Girl **


	17. And The End Is Nigh

**Disclaimer: I do not own basic plot/characters etc.**

**Note: _italics are dreams_, -hyphens are thoughts, because FF took away my lovely asterisks- and #hashes are song lyrics#**

A/N: I'm very naughty. I haven't updated since… -counts- The SEVENTH OF NOVEMER??? Strewth, I didn't know it was that long! I'm so sorry for all those who genuinely like the story. -grovel grovel creep creep- This chappie isn't as good as the rest because I have lost the SWING. If you get what I mean.

          (Please note there is a reference to Austin Powers 3 in this here chappie – ignore it if you haven't seen it.)

**THIS IS THE (BUMBER EDITION) LAST CHAPTER. THANKS TO ALL WHO HAVE REVIEWED AND SUPPORTED ME, I AM QUITE PROUD OF THIS WORK. IT TOOK ME A LONG TIME TO THINK OF A SATISFACTORY ENDING. THERE WILL NEW MATERIAL TO FOLLOW SOON! MAYBE A SEQUAL IF I HAVE TIME. WHY AM I WRITING IN CAPS? I DON'T KNOW. ON WITH THE SHOW!**

Chapter 17: Revelations and Zombie Nations 

Harry had fainted. Neville, starting to think he was the tougher of the two, ran after McGonagall to the Great Hall. When he got there, he – and Harry, having recovered from his 'fainting' fit when he realised Neville wasn't going to attend to him - breathlessly watched as Dumbledore's face lit up with the light of a thousand candles. The band in the corner started up with _My Heart Will Go On_ as McGonagall smoothed her hair, glided over to Dumbledore and kissed him passionately. The students cheered and threw roses and anything else they could find. (Ron, having recently watched _Austin Powers 3_, threw a cupcake at Dumbledore's bald spot.)

          The only thing that could ruin the moment was a cruel and mocking speech. Severus Snape, we applaud you – never fails to deliver.

          "Well, she's back! I was wondering how long it would be. Damn it bitch, you're looking mighty fine tonight! Does losing your soul mean you don't age?" Snape said, stumbling onto stage. The whole student and staff body stared at him in – not awe as such… just astounded at his audacity. "What? What have I done NOW? Oh come on, Dumbledore! You said I could give a speech!

          "Now. Seeing as I can say ANYTHING I like on this here stage, there are a few things you putrid pupils should know… First: Flitwick. He has a strange fetish for pink lacy underwired bras. And… HE WEARS ONE!" He yanked up Flitwick's robe, revealing the pink lacy underwired bra plus matching knickers. "AND LOOK!" Snape screamed in ecstasy, whipping him round to reveal the tattoo: _I've got a lovely pair of coconuts_ across his back. "Oh, piss off you pervert Flik the Prick. Now, who next, who next…? Aah, Hagrid. Well, let's see… he's in _lust_. AFTER DOBBY THE HOUSE ELF! AND ALL THE OTHER LITTLE ELVES IN THE KITCHENS! What? He isn't here? Oh buggery. Ah well. Let's see… Me. Yes, I. I have been having an affair with – wait for it, wait-for-it-wait-for-it… MCGONAGALL! For ten years. And-" he pointed at each of his victims, "Seamus has a rash _down there_, Cho picks her nose and eats it, Colin Creepy – sorry, Creevy – is as gay as one of Graham Norton's feather boas, and that wasn't Julie Andrews in _The Sound of Music,_ that was **ME**! Ahem. That is all." He stepped off the stage, oblivious to the fact that the ball was in tatters. His victims of choice had left, and were all crying in various broom cupboards, McGonagall had fainted, Dumbledore was puce and Snape… well. Snape was drooling.

          "Affair. Affair…?" Dumbledore said quietly to the now revived McGonagall. "Yes… I'm sorry. So sorry…" she whispered. He threw her a look, gave her a final kiss, and left in a flurry of silver robe and facial hair.

[The Next Day]

'All,

I am leaving. Forever. Unfortunately, the saviour of wizard-kind – Harry, for the very thick among you – has ruined my life. The love of my life has been flirting and feeling up others in the school, my reputation is in tatters, and I have lost almost all my money due to the non-refundable wedding bookings. I don't know where I'll go, but I do know I'm not coming back. I have a few demands though:

- McGonagall takes over as head

- Snape is to spy on the students for the teachers

- Harry is to graduate as normal, but shall never EVER return to Hogwarts, on a visit or otherwise.

That's it. Three simple demands. Please heed them, for the good of the school.

          And Harry, I have a special message for you: you BASTARD. You little **JAMMY BASTARD**. You know, I guided you through your teenage years – I offered you biscuits when McGonagall thought you were too sickly, I told you about your past, I helped you battle the Dark Lord. Which is the one thing, the ONE THING I wanted to do by myself. I wasn't merely dropping hints when I said that I was the only one he couldn't harm (or words to that effect) – I was subtly saying **back off bitch this one's mine**. However, seeing as you were too dense to realise that, I had to live with it. And I could, until you go mad and start fondling my bloody fiancée. That was what I couldn't stand. So, dear Harry, The Boy Who Lived – have a nice life. Let you be guilt-ridden till the end. Or let a Hippogriff eat your innards before your very eyes, whichever is more painful.

          Finally, I'd like to say I have greatly enjoyed my time here. I had hoped to stay longer. But you know, if there's one thing the Dark Lord, the students, the staff and BLOODY HARRY FRIGGING POTTER have taught me, it's that not everything goes your way. In 'cool' terms: life's a bitch.

                                      Dumbledore_._'

Only McGonagall and Harry knew of this note. The rest of the school had been informed that Dumbledore had retired to a house in the country, and seemed not entirely satisfied with that explanation. Rumours began to fly around the corridors and over the cauldrons –

          "He's gone to America."

          "Nah, he's gone to Hollywood."

          "Liar! He's gone to BOLLYWOOD!"

          "You're all wrong! Harry killed him!"

          "Yeah! And chopped him up and hid his pieces in the statue of the one-eyed witch!"

          "No! He's asked Pavarti to marry him!"

          "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! SHUT UP!" Harry bellowed at his Potions class. "I know where he's gone. He's retired, like McGonagall said. To Saint Mungo's!!!" He gazed smugly at their astonished faces. "There. Happy now? He's potty. Loopy. Crazy. Round the twist, up the creek with no canoe…" He trailed off when he ran out of terms for 'mad'. Embarrassed, he quickly got on with his teleportation potion.

The last day of school. The last day…of school… the words seemed foreign on Hermione's tongue as she woke up to brilliant sunshine. Birds twittered, the squid squelched, and all seemed right with the world. Almost. She dressed, and wandered downstairs to find Harry in the common room. She paused for a second. Could she really face him? Probably not. She hadn't said a word to him since his Potions outburst. He'd taken to hanging around with Neville a lot, and the two seemed to be quite close. Too much had changed… She sighed. Too loudly, it transpired, as Harry turned around sharply and asked, "How long have you been breathing near me for?"

          -Charming- she thought. "Half a minute." She stepped tentatively closer and asked him, "Harry. Can you tell me what _really_ happened?" He hesitated, and then bit by bit explained everything. All of it – every conversation Neville and him had, the potions involved. Some of it she already knew. But the bit that startled her – he was in love.

          "Really? With whom?" Harry paused, cleared his throat.

          "You," he said. She gaped like a goldfish. "Fooled you," he grinned. Hermione looked outraged, but then smiled, and threw her arms round him. "What? What have I done to deserve this?" he mock-wailed.

          "You're back! You're back!" she blubbered into his robes. Before any more barf-inducing reconciliation action could occur, Ron interrupted them. "Hermione? Harry…?" he asked.

          "It's OK, Ron. We're speaking again." Harry pushed Hermione away. "Anyway, you should be wearing black and clicking rosaries about the place, Hermione. It's the last day of school. Surely you're in mourning?"

          "On the contrary," she beamed. "I'll be happy to leave. Because I know what I want to do! I want to be an assistant at St Mungo's. Help Dumbledore, and others like him."

          "That's nice," Ron said, not listening. But Harry was, and asked, "What about SPEW?"

          "SPEW… I've given up. It's too much, and I wasn't doing anything constructive. That's why I haven't mentioned it for a YEAR… why did it suddenly come to mind?"

          "I don't know. Tie up loose ends and all that."

The Graduation ceremony was a solemn affair, when normally it was a wild raucous party. The whole of the school was silent as Harry collected his diploma. McGonagall shook his hand warmly. As he was about to walk away, she whispered in his ear, "Thanks, Harry. Severus is The One. Thanks for helping me choose." He went back to his seat feeling as though the world had gone mad. Completely crazy.

          Which, in fact, it is. As he drank his alcoholic pumpkin juice, he glanced round at the Gryffindor table, at all the people he'd grown up with. Hermione, Ron, Neville, Ginny, Colin. And the teachers, Hagrid, McGonagall, Snape… Snape, who was a nice person when mad.

          "Harry?" Hermione said, waking him from his reverie. "Harry, are you coming to stay at Ron's over the summer?"

          "Um… No, sorry. I've agreed to stay with Neville. We're going to set up a potions store together… seriously!" he said, seeing Hermione's sceptical face. "I'll visit you, though. At least once." He was momentarily distracted by the sight of Fawkes flying into the Great Hall, with a note on his wing: _He's yours, Harry._

He smiled. The world was his, at his feet. Begging to be used. And with Neville at his side, what could go wrong…? Best not answer that.

          At least he had Fawkes at his side, to help with any more soul-killing sprees he might choose to undergo.

###

And by now you should know the score – REVIEW!


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